


(Oh Darlin) What Have I Done?

by tellmesweetlittlelies



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26221375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tellmesweetlittlelies/pseuds/tellmesweetlittlelies
Summary: (Part of the "Changes in Circumstance" challenge over on SOA Fan Fiction Revival) Tara's not sure where to turn when she catches Jax mid-betrayal. Meanwhile, Jax's guilt gets the best of him and he's not sure what to do with his own kids. After all their truths are revealed, they may have to face their next enemy together after all. (Currently a oneshot, but will likely continue in the future)
Relationships: Tara Knowles/Jax Teller
Comments: 16
Kudos: 37





	(Oh Darlin) What Have I Done?

Tara had thought she and Jax reached rock bottom years ago. In fact, she’d assumed it had happened the moment she’d pushed open the door to Jax’s clubhouse room and found everything she’d expected. Her AWOL boyfriend, the obligatory bottle of Jack, the carton of cigarettes and half ounce of weed that had become his only confidante since the day Abel was taken... Unfortunately, she’d also found oh so much more than she’d anticipated. 

She hadn’t really expected him to welcome her with open arms, had even figured he’d try to put on some show to continue pushing her away. Thought maybe he’d recruit Gemma to tell her just how much she didn’t fit into the life (God, how Gemma would’ve _loved_ that shit), or maybe even allow a croweater or two to sit on his lap as evidence of how much he really didn’t need her. Typical Jax bullshit they’d already gotten through more than once during their tumultuous high school years when jealousy, catfighting and his mother seemed to make their regularly-scheduled, semi-annual appearances. 

The fact that she’d walked in and practically tripped over the pair of porn star heels, however… That had been unexpected. Even during the lowest points of their high school relationship, Jax had never actually tried to break her fucking heart. He’d enjoyed the constant female attention as long as she can remember- had always been cocky- but had never, _ever_ , been cruel. And setting her up to walk into that scenario- his golden hair clearly tangled from a night of (God, she can’t even bring herself to think about it now), smoking his customary after-sex cigarette, and the one bitch in all of Charming she can’t stand wearing nothing but his Reaper tee and a shit-eating grin… 

_That_ shit had been cruel. Almost as cruel as Jax screaming at her that she- the girl he _knew_ had grown up without much family to speak of, the woman who’d fallen in love with his baby son practically the moment she laid eyes on him- wasn’t his family. Seeing Ima had felt like a punch to the gut, leaving her unable to say or do anything in that moment but turn and walk away. She’d hurt worse than Jax’s constant disbelief that his mother could ever do anything wrong and even worse than the actual talk they’d had where he’d assured her he was done.  
  
On a rational level, Tara knows cheating isn’t the worst thing he’s done since she’s been back in Charming. Really, she blames the way it had crushed her on the way she’d allowed herself to become accustomed to Jax’s brand of bullshit. The way she’d taken him back, relieved to have Abel back in her arms and a baby on the way with the man that’s had her heart since she was fifteen, well… who was she to deny her heart what it wanted?

She’d accepted weeks ago- during her stint in fucking prison- that while he loved her (he’d never once stopped telling her so, even when she couldn’t bring herself to say it back to him for reasons beyond her understanding) she just can’t compete with the club. Not when it’s been ingrained into his psyche since he was barely old enough to walk. Not when the last person who’d really tried to walk away had wound up under the wheels of a goddamn semi, more than likely at the hands of his mother and his father’s best friend.   
  
So, yes- Tara had thought she’d already dug so far beyond what most people would consider rock bottom she couldn’t even see the light of day anymore. 

Until, that is, she’d she’d tried to take a page out of Gemma’s (of all people’s) book- until she’d plotted a move so desperate it was bound to fail… but even failing was better than standing by and consigning herself and her boys to the life Jax had chosen for them. Until it had all blown up in her face and left her totally and completely alone, except for the two people that meant the most to her in the world, the only two people that could have her going to such lengths. Yeah, rocking her infant son with a fucking gun in her lap had been, bar none, the lowest she’d ever felt.   
  
After a night with no sleep in sight- not to mention no sign of Jax, much to her relief- Tara had managed to get the boys off to daycare before taking another blow in the form of both Margaret and Wendy bailing on their plan. The hits just kept coming, topped off by her mother in law, who’d responded exactly how the club had trained her to.

Once again, Tara had pushed down the rising fear in the back of her throat as Gemma reassured her that she was all alone in the world. That she’d never raise her boys… that the only decision she had left to make was whether “ _Mommy moved away, or Mommy passed away._ ” 

Thing is, she knows Gemma had meant every fucking word, that she’d kill Tara herself if it meant keeping the two _Princes_ in Charming. Still Tara had forced a wry smirk, and found that she’d actually felt the smug satisfaction it had been meant to convey. Gemma’s inability to restrain herself had meant Tara’d finally managed to get the ace she now held in her sleeve. 

All in all, it had been a hell of a day, made worse when Juice had informed her that Jax was meeting with a business associate. Worse still, that “associate” was none other than the operator of a brothel- a business Tara hadn’t felt right about at any point in the last several months. And now that she’d served Jax with divorce papers and attempted to set the psychotic harpy he called a mother up for assault, she’s got a pretty good idea what he’s up to.   
  
Sighing, Tara white-knuckles the wheel, even though the car’s been at a full stop in the street in front of Diosa Norte for a good- she checks the dash clock- three minutes. 

She’d felt no less than fucking pathetic all the way over here from St. Thomas, had nearly turned around twice (and actually pulled onto the shoulder once, until the momentary wave of nausea at the thought of confronting Jax had passed). _He doesn’t deserve your explanations... Or your goddamn truth_ , she’d told herself then, pushing away the vision of his red-rimmed eyes in the hospital the day he’d thought she lost their baby. _And he damn sure doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of thinking he’s hurting you- not when you’ve made it more than clear you’re moving on, from him and from the lifestyle that took your career, your sons, and your goddamn sanity._   
  
_So why are you here?_ Her bruised psyche had screamed back at her- and ever since she’d pulled to a stop in front of Diosa Norte, she’d been sitting here trying to figure that out. Fifteen minutes, she’d allotted to convince herself she was over Jax and his constant habit of putting his club ahead of his family, and then she’d go get her boys and decide what the hell to do next.

“He can’t hurt you anymore,” Tara whispers now, ignoring the sight of her own red-rimmed eyes in the rearview. She averts her eyes from her pale face, drawn from night upon sleepless night since she’d gone to jail for his club. _And you don’t need to let him- not even now, to give him the proof he needs…_

 _All this is going to do is finish breaking your heart._  
  
The blip of the dashboard clock catches her eye, now marking five minutes since she’d pulled into her parking spot in front of the once-stately home that served as her husband’s most recent business venture. Five minutes into her self-prescribed fifteen minute waiting period- but no closer to convincing herself to leave this hellhole in the dust than she had before.   
  
_Fuck it._  
  
Pushing out a shaky breath- or a sob, she really can’t tell which, at this point- Tara wrenches the door of the SUV open and grabs her purse. Holding it before her like a shield- as if it’s going to protect her already fragile heart from the damage she knows she’s about to inflict on it- she does yet one more thing on a list of shit she’d never thought she’d do… Tara Knowles-Teller strolls through the front door of her second brothel in so many months. 

It’s nice, she realizes with some surprise- a lot more homey than Nero’s other establishment (the one that had been the site of their hasty wedding, for God’s sake), but somehow still elegant. Somewhere, in some distant recess of her mind, a part of her snorts that she’s actually comparing the interior design elements of fucking brothels, but she pushes the thought away as she fumbles through her explanation of who she’s looking for. 

“Uh, Collette?” she says, trying to stay on an even keel- knowing that these girls are well-trained at turning away irate wives in search of their wandering husbands. Marching in here and demanding to see Jax would’ve been stupid- and Tara’s never been stupid.   
  
Not unless it comes to her heart. 

That’s a fact Tara proves even further when sheer, morbid curiosity leads her to ignore the receptionist’s instructions and climb the stairs. If Collette’s with a client and Jax is nowhere to be seen – and she _knows_ he’s here, given the line of familiar Harley Davidsons outside – that can only mean one thing. Sick as it is, Tara realizes she almost _wants_ to see it. Wants to catch him in the act so they can be done with this distant, stilted, politeness and finish crushing what’s left of her love for him so she can do what needs to be done. 

_You can do this, just get it over with-_

Soft murmurs emanating from the first room at the top of the stairs pierce through her thoughts as if they were the theatric pornstar screams she’d expected. _No,_ Tara thinks wryly, reaching the landing, _that was the last woman he cheated on you with_.   
  
_That you know of._   
  
Ignoring the poisonous thoughts that plague her even now, Tara leans closer to the door- which is, surprisingly, open a crack. She’d recognize Jax’s voice anywhere, and despite all they’ve been through, she’s almost ashamed to admit it still stirs something inside of her… That part of herself she’d once managed to keep locked away for nearly eleven years.   
  
_Focus._  
  
Pushing the door open further- slowly, so as not to give herself away, just yet- the heavy wood swings forward to reveal the scene before her… And no matter how prepared for this moment she’d thought she’d been, it had all apparently been for nothing. Suddenly, she doesn’t know whether she wants to scream, cry, throw up- or all three.   
  
There, on the bed, is her husband- her _Jackson_. God, she doesn’t know if she’ll ever stop thinking of him as hers, not even after this. He’s seated at the edge of the bed, leaning back on his elbows and wearing nothing but his Abel and Thomas tattoos and a pair of white boxers.  
  
 _Where the hell is his kutte_ , Tara wonders, wildly, irrationally. She hasn’t seen him without it outside their home since before he went to prison. Thoughts of the kutte he’d left her behind to keep on his back fade, however, as the room’s other occupant steps into view. And suddenly, no matter what they’ve done to each other- no matter how awful the past several weeks have been- she just can’t bring herself to move. Can’t allow herself to alert him of her presence so they can have it out, _or_ run away like she’s been doing since she was nineteen. 

Collette’s topless, though her front is mercifully hidden from Tara’s view as she draws closer to the bed, unzipping her tight pencil skirt and kicking off her heels. Tara has only a brief moment to notice the cruel, sharp irony that is the fact that she’s witnessing the beginnings of one of Jax’s indiscretions this time, instead of the aftermath... Only a second before Collette begins to shimmy out of the skirt altogether. 

As her husband watches, the businesswoman-slash-glorified-hooker steps out of her skirt and the pain in Tara’s chest becomes more than she can bear. A silent sob escapes her lips and her hand raises, unbidden, to rest on her chest. It’s here- right _here_ , in front of her- the proof she’d been trying to convince herself she didn’t need, the closure her heart and her head had been at war over ever since Juice had smugly told her where Jax was headed… 

It’s just that now that she’s here, it hurts so much more than she’d thought it would. They’re done, they’re getting a divorce, and he’s probably- technically- free to fuck whoever he wants. Right? 

_Right._ _You’re only here so you can tell him what he needs to hear_ , her rational brain reminds her. 

_But he’s mine,_ her heart whispers mournfully  
  
And as much as Tara wants to scream those very words at the two blondes in front of her, she’s frozen in place- forced to watch as Collete, now clad only in her bra and panties, reaches for her husband. Jax just reclines- motionless, expressionless- as if waiting for her to mold him and bend him to her will. As Collette tilts Jax’s chin to lean in for a kiss, Tara’s trapped in a prison of her own making right there in the hallway of a brothel.

 _Jesus Christ, why can’t I move?_  
  
Except… suddenly, he’s not looking at Collette anymore, even as she bends ever closer to him. Instead, Jax’s beautiful blue eyes are burning right past the pretty blonde hooker and into Tara’s own. And still, he doesn’t move, doesn’t push Collette away- doesn’t even bother to sit up. In fact, the only indication he’s even aware of her is the brief glint of satisfaction- the first hint of emotion she’s seen since she made the supremely foolish decision to follow him up here.   
  
And it's enough to snap her out of her fugue state.   
  
“You son of a bitch!” 

* * *

Fucking Diosa. 

Despite his brothers’ jibes about his previous interactions with Collette, Jax wasn’t eager to return back to the brothel- site of probably the hardest fucking conversation he’d had to have all day. Shit, he’d dealt with both Galen and Lin in the hours since, but having to look his mother, Nero, and his brothers in the eye was far worse.   
  
He’d had to admit his wife had- just months into their marriage- not only plotted to leave him and take their boys, but had fucked Gemma over in the process. And what had he given his mother and Nero in return but a lot of fucking grief and a few shots to the face? So he’d had to swallow his pride and admit he’d been wrong about Tara, wrong for refusing to believe what his mother had been trying to tell him all along. 

Jax had felt defeated, almost delirious with exhaustion this morning, and if he’s telling the truth- relieved Collette had easily agreed to let him stash his bag in her room. He’d been subconsciously avoiding her, a little, ever since he’d taken her up on what she had to offer while Tara was in prison. At the time, he’d felt guilty about falling back into the old ways he’d adopted the first time Tara had left him- fucking his way up and down the West Coast in some pathetic attempt to fill the hole she’d left behind. Now, he doesn’t know what the fuck he feels, anymore.

His wife’s refusal to see him had cut deep, and while Jax hadn’t really planned on sleeping with his business partner (shit that always ended badly, in his experience), he has to admit now that he’d felt Tara pulling away from him for days leading up to her arrest. It was the spark that had reignited the long-simmering dread he’d felt since she’d come back to Charming- hell, probably since he was a fucking kid. Dread that she’d one day realize SAMCRO- and especially Jax- was more trouble than it was worth. That she could do better, _be_ better, practically anywhere else.   
  
The last time he’d been this certain she’d leave him, she’d hung on-proven him wrong. (And then he’d utterly fucked things up by pushing her in that very direction and fucking Ima.) At the time, he’d had good intentions centered around keeping her safe from the shit that kept piling up around him, but it had turned out to be the biggest fucking mistake of his life… 

Stupidly, he’d put her in more danger by leaving her behind. And now that Tara’s confirmed his every suspicion- that she doesn’t need or want him… Now that she’s pushed them across the point of no return by attempting to frame his mother for attempted _murder_ , for Christ’s sake… 

_Now_ , he’s just ready to drown himself in oblivion.   
  
Normally, he’d take off and ride until his back ached and his eyes watered- until he reached that sweet spot where he could no longer tell the difference between his bike and the road. But it isn’t just about him anymore- he’s got business to handle, and he’s got to let his brothers take a load off before the long day tomorrow. So, he’s back here where his day had started, and nowhere closer to dealing with his missing wife than the day before.   
  
Jax bites back a sigh, reclining on the bed and idly watching Collette undress. She’d reached for his belt buckle shortly after they’d come in here, but he’d pulled away and stripped down to his boxers quickly, not really up for the chase or the foreplay. Really, he just wants to lie back, empty his mind, and not resurface for a fucking year. Put all the shit with Tara, the club, even his mother and Nero, on the back burner until he can stop feeling like the whole goddamn world is resting on his shoulders. And since that shit’s never gonna happen, well…   
  
Though she takes a step closer, lets the thin strap of her bra slide down her shoulder, Collette’s smile fades. Jax finds he can only blink back at her- lethargic, exhausted, and too lost in his own fucking head to go through the motions. The line between her brows deepens, indicating that she evidently prefers a bed partner that actually acknowledges her presence. Not that he can fucking blame her- 

And suddenly, a gleam of emerald catches at the corner of his eye. 

It’s brief- just a flash in the shadows of the hallway, really- through the narrow opening of the door he’s only realizing just now was standing open several inches… But he’d recognize that shade of green anywhere- hell, he’d even dreamt about it more than once. First, over eleven endless years of separation and then through the 14 long months he’d spent in prison- always so luminous, so full of love and mischief, representing everything he’d ever wanted for himself, for his boys. And just as they had then, Tara’s eyes hold him captive. 

His world narrows, vision tunneling until all he can see is her. The room, the soft music, the half-nude woman closing in on him- it all falls away as they lock eyes, his senses zeroing in on her like they always have. His heart jumps into his throat, rendering him speechless, and his body reacts like it always has to her- sending his blood rushing south and his pulse kicking upwards in a way it hadn’t ten minutes ago when Collete had led him in here. 

But instead of the love that had always shone for him there, in the eyes of the one woman who’d ever held the power to break him he sees… nothing. That same fucking, expressionless mask she’d worn since she’d gone to prison- hell, even before that. And so, despite the shame he feels creeping up in the back of his throat and the tightness in his chest as he realizes that this is it- after sixteen years of loving her and all the pain and longing, and exhilaration and soul-deep connection between- they’re finally over… _Nothing_ is exactly what he does. 

Jax bites his lip, mirroring the tense clench of Tara’s jaw, drawing a bit of blood as he reminds himself what they’ve done to each other- why he’s here. _She’d_ been the one to refuse him, had been the one to withhold the only thing he’s ever really needed. _She’d_ been the one that had chosen to divorce him. Christ, she’d let him think they’d created another baby together, only to lie to his goddamn face, made him believe it had died, that his mother had- 

Jax fists the sheets as Collette tips his chin up, resisting the urge to push her away, otherwise motionless even as his heart threatens to beat its way through his chest. Collette murmurs something he doesn’t even register, unable as he is to tear his eyes from Tara’s. And then, for a brief second, it’s there- the sharp glint of pain emerging through the mask, the first hint of emotion she’s directed his way in weeks...but he has only a short moment to consider it before she’s moving.

“You son of a bitch,” Tara spits, and then Collette’s no longer in front of him- disappearing in a flurry of motion. Dumbfounded, he watches as his- Christ, he doesn’t even know _what_ she is to him anymore- tosses the blonde madame to the floor like she’s a goddamn rag doll. Then he’s on his feet, able to move for the first time in minutes, grabbing at Tara’s jacket and moving her away from a stunned Collette.   
  
He doesn’t know why, really. Why he’d pulled her off, shouted her name- why he’s pinning her arms to her sides even as she’s struggling against him. Eighteen year old Jax had only smirked and reveled in smug satisfaction the one time Tara- after about five too many shots- had finally succumbed to temptation and cold-cocked an overly zealous croweater who’d, in all fairness, slapped her first. Now, though, the thought of her fighting, the feel of her body writhing in an attempt to free herself from his grasp, has him feeling strangely _satisfied_ . Dizzy with the realization that it actually pleases him to see her visceral reaction after these long weeks… and almost sick with the shame that follows on its heels.   
  
Then, Tara manages to yank one arm free, the other clawing at Jax’s chest as she spins in their twisted embrace, the rage and the hurt in her eyes burning holes in his own once again. The sharp sting of her palm meeting his cheek has him stumbling back, almost knocks him off balance as her words hit him with twice the impact of her blow.   
  
“You stupid piece of shit!” She’s a whirlwind, churning away from him to snatch at the purse he hadn’t even seen her drop when she’d come in, blowing past a half-dressed, openmouthed Tig and a few of Collette’s employees on her way out the door. “Stay away from me!” 

And as it had been for the last several weeks of their relationship, Jax finds himself fucking lost- unmoving and unsure how to fix this, _if_ he can fix this, and where the hell to even begin. But she’s just given him the tiniest bit of hope that maybe she still cares- maybe there’s something left to salvage. He just has no idea what the fuck comes next.   
  
“Go.” Tig moves past him, apparently to tend to Collette, and again Jax is jolted into motion, only sparing her a brief glance before seizing the jeans and shirt he’d left on the floor mere minutes ago and pulling them on. He shoves his feet into his Nikes and pushes his way past the curious onlookers in the doorway, down the stairs, and out the heavy front door. 

“Tara!” is all Jax can manage to shout, at once relieved he’s managed to catch her before she can shut herself away from him again, and utterly clueless as to what he’ll say next. Forgoing the front wak entirely, he sprints across the lawn and reaches for her- mirroring the way he’s felt like he’s been reaching out to her for the past month, to no avail.   
  
It’s when she spins, brandishing a gun in her shaking hands, that Jax finally stops in his tracks, reeling backwards as if she’s already shot him. And Christ, a bullet probably would have ripped a smaller hole through him than the sight of _his Tara_ , pointing a fucking gun- _his_ gun- at his chest before dropping her arm to her side.  
  
“Stay away from me!” Her eyes are filled with tears, even as she backs away from him. Jax can’t help but wonder if they’d been alone, somewhere- anywhere but on this street and in the middle of Stockton- whether she’d have gone through with it. 

“What are you doing with that?” _How the hell did we get here? How have we become… this?_ he doesn’t say. Christ- there’s nothing more he _can_ say. He’d already said so much, done so much he should be begging forgiveness for… But she’d stopped loving him, planned on divorcing him and taking their boys away- and he just doesn’t know how the fuck two people can ever forgive one another after the shit they’ve been through.  
  
“Look what you did to me...” Tara’s trembling, _broken,_ and Jax swallows, thick guilt rising in the back of his throat like bile. Once again, he finds himself unable to speak, frozen in the cocoon of all the shitty fucking choices that had led them here. _Look at it?_ He’s _always_ fucking looking at it… And then he’s got to go about pushing away the fears and the insecurities that lay out what’s obvious to him- that she’d be better off practically anywhere but where he needs her. 

But now that it’s obvious to her, too, she’s waving a gun around on a public street like exactly the person she’d never wanted to become. There’s no more pretending, no more ignoring it. Not when it’s right here, staring the both of them in the face. 

“Oh God… What’s happening to me?” _Me_ , Jax wants to say, but she’s crying in earnest now, staggering back as if he’d struck her physically, and he just can’t bring himself to say out loud what she already knows and strike that final blow.   
  
“What happened to me!?’ 

It’s a question that’s still ricocheting around in his head as he watches her drive off, gut sinking as he realizes his bike keys are upstairs with the rest of his shit. It’s still lingering as he retrieves them, as he shoulders the backpack again and gives his apologies to his brothers (Collette is conspicuously absent).Then his mom calls, rambling on about some shit that’s come up and how she can’t pick the boys up from daycare like they’d agreed.   
  
Shit- he hadn’t been aware of any such agreement- had figured, on some level, that’s where Tara would be headed. And maybe it still is, given the shit that had just happened- not to mention Tara and his mother’s contentious relationship. Maybe he’ll head over there himself; Christ, she can hardly shoot him- or even completely lose her shit on him- at the goddamn hospital… And it's that thought alone that propels him, grimly, towards his bike. 

* * *

  
Nearly two hours later, Jax is headed home- this time with his boys in tow, chattering happily in the back of the truck he’d bought for exactly this purpose. Since he’d bought it, though, they’ve barely seen the inside of the thing. The few times he’d been tasked with picking them up- when Tara was in surgery or Gemma was on her downward spiral- he’d had to beg off and call Elyda or Lyla to take care of it. 

Still, he’d stopped by the hospital on his way into Charming, hoping to catch Tara unaware- to what end, he’s still not completely sure. But they need to hash this shit out now, before all the pieces start falling into place with Clay and the Irish tomorrow- he’s got to get his family shit under control or the club’s going to start wondering where his head’s at.

Regardless, it hadn’t mattered- the boys were still at the daycare and his runaway wife was nowhere to be found- nor was Juice, he’d noted, shooting a quick text to Chibs to follow up. She hadn’t been to the hospital nor their home, where he’d had to go to switch to the truck. And now, he doesn’t know what the fuck to do- with his boys or with his goddamn heart.

Jax goes through the motions of dinner (cereal, which draws a blank look from Abel, though Thomas shoves his Cheerios in his mouth happily) and bathtime- completely alone with them for maybe the first time since he’d gotten out of prison. He’s more than a little out of his element without either Tara or Gemma there to remind him of the boys’ routine- and tries not to wonder what kind of fucking father he is that his four year old has to remind him that his baby brother still takes a bottle before bed. Forcing a smile, he ruffles Abel’s hair before thanking him and popping a bottle into the microwave to warm.   
  
They’re all piled in the rocking chair in the nursery- Thomas idly sucklling the bottle and tucked into his right arm, Abel curled into his left side with his favorite blanket- before Abel asks the question Jax has been dreading since he picked them up.   
  
“Where’s Mommy?”

Jax sighs. _Good question, my boy._ He tries to hide his wince, tries on a reassuring smile- one he’s pretty goddamn sure is an epic failure- before looking his oldest son in the eye.   
  
“She had to work late, Son. Thought you’d like it if Daddy picked you up today.” Abel’s little brow furrows- as if remembering that it had been a few months since Mommy had needed to work late- and Jax is pretty damn sure that’s exactly what’s happening. Despite not being related to Tara at all- at least by blood- it’s almost as if his son has inherited her razor sharp mind and usually on-the-nose intuition. 

“I don’t like it when Mommy’s not home.” 

“Me either, Buddy.” And _that_ , Jax finds, is the goddamn truth. Abel seems to think this over a moment before burrowing his head into Jax’s chest. Thomas, too, is beginning to drift off, and Jax gently removes the bottle from his mouth and places it on the edge of the daybed. 

They rock in silence for a few minutes. Jax realizes that although his mind is still full to the brim with the shit that happened today, the truly live-or-die shit he’s got to take care of tomorrow, and the freshly opened wound that is his marriage… This, right here- rocking slowly with two thirds of what had been his family warm and safe (for now) in his lap- is the most at peace he’d felt in a long fucking time. 

His eyes drifting closed- despite the relatively early hour- Jax can’t help but wonder if this is what his life might have been, if Clay hadn’t completely gone off the deep end. Waiting up for Tara- who likely really would be at a late surgery. Spending his days doing God-knows-what and his nights doing exactly this- tucking his boys into bed instead of “blowing off steam” over at Diosa with SAMCRO.   
  
It’s a possibility that had both exhilarated and terrified him, when it comes right down to it. The thought of being anything but outlaw, the very real possibility Tara would thrive (Christ, he _knows_ she’d thrive) and he’d wither out there in the real world. Would they even have stayed together if they’d gotten out? Hell, they’re only months removed from his 14 month stretch, several weeks into their marriage, and look at all the shit that had conspired to rip them apart since then. 

But his boys in his arms… it would all have been worth it, he knows. It was just not meant to be- not with that fucking tyrant Clay runnng the show. Definitely not with the machinations of Galindo, the CIA, the IRA, the DA, and practically every other asshole on the face of the goddamn planet plotting the demise of the one thing he values almost as much as his family. 

“Will she be here when we wake up?” Abel’s sleepy mumble interrupts Jax’s reverie, and he answers as truthfully as possible, noting Thomas’ sleep-heavy weight and shifting them all upright.   
  
“I don’t know, little man. Let’s get to bed and see if she surprises us in the morning.” Reluctantly, Abel slides down from Jax’s lap- though he clings close as Jax kisses Thomas’ silky head and lowers him carefully into his crib. Turning off the lamp, Jax follows Abel’s lead- much as he’d been doing all night- down the hall and into the next bedroom.   
  
Abel’s tucked securely into his little bed and Jax is repeating his actions from a few minutes ago- kissing a sweet-smelling forehead and murmuring a goodnight- when Abel’s soft voice manages to knock him for a loop.   
  
“Is Mommy scared ‘cause you and her and Grandma are fighting?” Jax closes his eyes. Christ, he’d known it was too much to hope that his whip-smart little boy would have remained unaware of all the shit unfolding around him… But stupidly, he’d gone ahead and hoped anyway. 

“I don’t think Mommy’s scared, Abel- and neither is Grandma. We’re... Well, we’re all just a little sad right now.” _Sad about Opie, about Piney, hell- Donna, Sack, Dawn, Tara’s career, their fucking family… take your pick._ Unaware of Jax’s bitter inner monologue, Abel nods- satisfied- letting his own eyes drift shut even as he responds, sleepily.   
  
“I know. ‘Cause she cries every night after we go to bed. But don’t worry, Daddy- I give her all my kisses and she says it helps make her feel better.” Swallowing thickly, and trying not to bust out into tears in front of his four year old, Jax searches for a response, the heavy silence settling over the room for several long minutes. Finding none, he settles for pressing another kiss to Abel’s forehead. 

“I love you, Son.” 

Abel’s measured breaths are his only response.

* * *

After the boys were in bed, Jax had busied himself putting away the few dinner dishes, picked up the toys that had littered the living room since they’d been home, and done what he could to shore up the shit for tomorrow from here at the house. Bobby had reassured him all was good at Diosa- despite the scene he and Tara had made there earlier- and mentioned that Collette seemed to be just fine… though he hadn’t asked. In fact, Jax had thought he’d detected a hint of disapproval in Bobby’s voice, especially when his old friend had made it a point to ask after Tara directly afterward. 

Gemma, on the other hand, hadn’t picked up her phone when Jax had called- just sent a text that she and Nero were handling some shit with his family, but that she’d be at the house bright and early to pick up the boys. Still wanting- needing- to tread lightly with both his mother and Nero, Jax had simply responded with a “K, thanks mom” and left it at that. 

Then, unaccustomed as he is to spending evenings alone at his own goddamn house, he’d found himself with nothing but uneasy energy. During his 14 month stretch, Jax had hated the way the silence and his idle hands had sort of converged to send his mind speeding down a dark path it never seemed to take when he was with Tara and his boys, with the club, or tearing up a chunk of road. In prison, he’d ramped up his writing, furiously laying out all his plans, his fears, his dreams for the future. Now- with that future dead and littering the landscape between a Stockton brothel and Ally Lowen’s office- Jax finds himself staring at the all-too-similar wreckage of his father’s Panhead. 

For years- since Piney had helped (if you counted gruff critiques and begrudging praise as “help”) Jax and Opie fix this thing up in the first place, it had held a place of honor in the clubhouse. He’d always seen it as sort of a beacon for everything his dad had wanted for the club. Now, the only thing he’s done to better any of them is oust the man that had killed his father- not that he’s all that sure JT himself even really knew what the fuck he wanted. To make shit even worse, Ope and Piney are now in the cemetery right there alongside his father.   
  
The familiar pang of grief he always seems to get when he thinks about Ope knifes its way through his chest, and Jax abandons his work on the bike for a moment to light another cigarette. With the strains of White Buffalo emanating from the ancient radio in his garage, there’s no way he’d have seen it had he not had to retrieve his lighter from the work table. But there, out of the corner of his eye, Jax notices the sudden jump of the tiny LED lights on the baby monitor resting nearby.   
  
Reaching to switch off the radio, Jax turns up the monitor with his other hand, silently hoping Thomas is just tossing and turning in his sleep. Another jump, and this time, he hears it through the door to the interior, too- a thump, then a shuffling. Like lightning, his piece is out of his waistband and in his right hand- his left resting on the door handle, turning it silently and pushing the door to the kitchen open without a sound.   
  
The dim light over the sink is on, like he’d left it, and the light that spills around the corner and into the living room reveals no intruders. Jax is about to cross to the front window and check the street outside when there’s another soft thump and a hissed curse- whoever it is, is in the back of the house… near his boys. _Fuck._ Jax blinks back the rage that momentarily clouds his vision, turns off the safety, and starts for the hallway. 

From a quick glance down the darkened hall, he can see that the master bedroom light is on, sending a shaft of light creeping up the wall at the other end. Worse, Thomas and Abel’s doors are still standing open, like he’d left them- leaving them even more vulnerable to the whims of whoever had dared to break into his house. Slowly, soundlessly, he edges along the wall near Thomas’ doorway, ears pricked for any indication something is amiss inside his youngest son’s room. 

It doesn’t take long- a sharp inhalation of breath is all Jax needs to hear to send him sliding around the doorframe, jolting into action at the sight of the dark figure in the rocking chair. Finger on the trigger of the 1911 now, his heart thumping wildly, he’s suddenly flung back to the dock he’d collapsed upon the last time his son had been snatched away from him… But the voice emanating from somewhere down his body somehow comes out deadly calm.   
  
“Get the _fuck_ away from my son.” 

The only response is a ragged sob, as the dark figure clutches at what Jax now recognizes as his baby son. Taking a step forward, his eyes still adjusting to the pitch-black of the room compared to the dimly lit hallway, he raises his gun, blanching as he realizes he’s aiming down the sight at a familiar pair of wide, fearful eyes. 

_“What are you gonna do to me?”_

* * *

Christ, it had been a mistake to come here. Despite practically laughing in Gemma’s face, earlier- when she’d all but guaranteed her son would kill anyone that dared to take his sons out of Charming- Tara had known, deep down, that she was likely right. It’s a feeling that had increased exponentially this afternoon, when she'd not only failed in her mission to give Jax the truth, but actually pulled a fucking gun on him... And again earlier this evening, when Patterson had told her there was no longer an option for a deal. 

She’d sat in Patterson’s office, had come to the sickening realization that it likely meant that someone close to SAMCRO had made a call that rescinded any option she had… And the only Son with the authority to do that is standing right in front of her.

Still, now that she’s here, in her own home, with her husband pointing the barrel of his gun at her forehead… The reality of it all- that this is the last time she’ll hold her sweet, affectionate little Thomas, that she’ll never see her precocious, brave little Abel ever again- has her breath rushing out of her, the walls of the darkened room closing in. _He knows everything_ … her mind seems to be taunting her- _and he’s always been willing to kill to protect his club_ .   
  
She can’t look at Jax, can’t see the hate she knows mars his once-beloved features, so she closes her eyes, kisses Thomas’ plump, baby soft cheeks one last time, and slowly rises, doing her best to shield her baby from what his parents have become. Realistically, she knows Jax would never hurt him- at least not intentionally- but she needs to get as far away from her babies as possible, before… 

Sobbing, softly, Tara runs the back of a finger across his downy head before closing her eyes, committing his image to her sweetest memories before brushing past Jax, suddenly heedless of the gun he’s holding. 

“Tara,” Jax murmurs, his voice strangled, as if he actually regrets what he’s about to do- what he’s been raised to do. If she can just make it to the hall, her bedroom maybe, before her husband’s need to protect his club leads them where it’s always led them-

Suddenly, Tara’s body jerks back, halted in her rush to take this somewhere her boys won’t see- and he’s speaking again as his fingers close on her wrist, pulling her back like he had earlier today in the brothel.   
  
“What are you doing here, Tara?”   
  
But she can’t answer him, especially not now that she can see him a bit more clearly- the familiar planes of his face thrown into dark shadows in the distant light of their bedroom at the other end of the hall. His expression is unreadable and for the first time in her life- the first time since they’d discovered their unique, soul-deep bond… she has absolutely no clue what is going on behind those impassive, ice-blue eyes. 

Tara shudders, tears sliding freely down her cheeks, and flinches when Jax’s hand tightens on her wrist and he steps closer, effectively trapping her between himself and the wall.   
  
“Please don’t… hurt me in front of the kids,” she half-sobs, wincing as her voice cuts through the silence. Thomas is just like his father- a light sleeper- and even the smallest of sounds can-

“What?” Jax interrupts her panicked torrent of thoughts mid-stream, taking a step back as quickly as he’d earlier moved forward- shaking his head in disbelief. “Tara, I’m not gonna hurt you. I- _Jesus Christ,_ what the hell are you talking about?” 

“Gemma, she…” Tara doesn’t know what happens first- if her words fail her, or if Jax’s lip curls in disbelief. Still, he finally releases her wrist, shoving her hands away as if they disgust him.   
  
“Haven’t you twisted up enough shit with my mother already? The fact that you would try to drag her back into-”   
  
“ _Fuck_ you, Jax,” Tara spits, her fear diminishing- if only a tiny bit- as it’s overtaken by the dregs of the anger left over from the events of the afternoon, leaving her reckless, disoriented. Shaking, she slides sideways, towards the sanctuary of the living room and away from this conversation- away from him. Only, Jax barricades her escape route with his arm, invading her space again before fishing in his waistband for his gun.   
  
Tara can’t help but flinch, which serves to deepen his scowl and set his mouth in a grim line. Keeping his extended arm in place, Jax reaches up to dislodge the magazine, then racks the slide back- exactly how he’d shown her, dropping the chambered bullet into his hand. His eyes never leave hers as he places the empty gun back into his waistband, the magazine into his pocket, and folds the bullet into her injured hand. 

“I’m not. Gonna. Hurt you.” His voice sure, steady, Jax swallows, then- looks away. And all of a sudden, his eyes are brimming with unshed tears. “Jesus, Tara, who the fuck do you think you’re talkin’ to?” 

Fear receding, her faith in him growing that tiniest bit,at least where her immediate safety is concerned, Tara allows herself to look at him- _really_ look at him- for the first time since he’d drawn on her. He looks absolutely wrecked, dark circles under his brilliant blue eyes, hair hanging in his face, cheeks ruddy. Christ he’s even breathing like he’s just survived a blow to the chest. _Well good, because that makes two of us_.

“I don’t know _who_ I’m talking to, anymore,” Tara breathes, the honesty that had been present only in her head a moment ago finally making its way to her lips. The tears are flowing freely now, and she makes no effort to wipe them away. “The things you’ve had to do to protect the club- they’ve changed you. Made you into this… this person I don’t even recognize.” Jax hangs his head, and a few tears fall, untouched, onto the toes of Tara’s shoes. There’s a long moment of silence before he raises his eyes to meet hers..   
  
“Then why are you here?” 

_Jesus_ … For a moment, Tara’s taken back to the first time he’d asked her to define their relationship- whether she loved him after their years of separation. At the time, her heart had screamed “Yes!” but her head had told her to hunker down, protect herself, and deflect- so that’s exactly what she’d done. Tonight… there’s just so many lies, so many secrets and betrayals, she doesn’t even know where to start. 

“That was my mistake.” And it was- she should have taken the boys and left at the first hint of trouble with the goddamn cartel. She’d have her boys, her career, the use of her hand… She might not have Jax- and God knows, he’s since proven he has other priorities- but at least her kids would be safe. 

“That’s bullshit, Tara, and you know it,” Jax sneers, shaking his head- and Tara yanks her arm away, pushing past him in the other direction and down the hallway. He follows her into the bedroom, and it strikes her that they haven’t been in here, together, since immediately after the miscarriage she’d faked in a last-ditch effort to keep Gemma away from her boys.

Almost immediately, she spies Jax’s backpack lying on the bed- the same one she’d noticed on the chair in the brothel. The anger that follows feels good, _invigorating_ , and she wheels on him- watching as his eyes widen, then narrow in anger.

“You don’t get to ask me why I stayed, Jax- not after you swore on your life we’d be getting out _together_ .” Tara can’t help but snort at his dumbfounded expression. “ All I ever wanted was for us to be a real family- and at some point, you wanted that too, remember?” Jax sits on the edge of the bed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if she’s giving him a headache.   
  
“I _did_ want that,” he answers, quietly. “If this cartel shit wouldn’t have turned into a CIA disaster that threatened to have all of us in fucking prison for the next 25 to life, we’d probably be somewhere in Oregon by now.” Tara smiles, sadly.   
  
“You really believe that, don’t you? That if everything had gone perfectly, if Clay hadn’t made his fucking power play, if the cartel really had been just a cartel… You’d have taken off your kutte, cleaned up all the blood, and kept your promises.” It’s a statement, not a question, and as Jax meets her eyes, she sees that the conflict raging behind them appears more agonizing than ever.   
  
“ I made promises to my club too, Tara. I told you- I can’t let it die. It’s a part of me, just like you are-”   
  
“ _Like I am_ ...” she chokes out, furious tears welling up once again. “Tell me, _Jackson_ -” she can’t resist the sarcasm dripping from her voice even though somewhere in the back of her mind she knows exactly who she sounds like. “Which _part_ of me was nearly inside that prostitute today?” 

“I’m-”   
  
“Sorry? _Sorry_ you only got to work out your mommy issues a few times before I caught you in the act? Jesus, Jax, I knew as soon as Juice told me where you were that this couldn’t have been the first time. I -” Disgusted, Tara shakes her head, biting off the rest of her retort. She hadn’t wanted to come back to the house, had been relieved to see the lights off and Jax’s bike absent from the driveway. The plan had been to get in, get a few essentials, get out, and decide what the hell to do next. 

Instead, they’re here, arguing once again about her husband’s wayward dick- shit she’d known about on some level before she’d ever chased him over to Diosa Norte. Shit that would get them nowhere. A fact Jax seems to realize, as he sits, silently, his head in his hands- a position of defeat she’s seen more and more frequently from him since he’d taken the gavel.   
  
“Look…” he says, quietly, after some time. “When you got arrested, it scared the shit out of me. I didn’t know what to say, what to do to help you. And then when I finally got some news about your release, you didn’t want to see me. It… it _broke_ me, Tara- took me right back to that place I was in when you left me when we were nineteen. And I fucked up, Babe- that’s the long and short of it. I don’t have an excuse, it just is what it is- a goddamn mistake.” He pauses, running a hand over his beard, his gaze unfocused- and Tara wants so badly to continue to release her frustrations on him… to feel the sting of her palm against his cheek, again. 

Instead, she curls her fingers into a fist, the nails biting against her palm, because she knows what’s coming next.   
  
“After you got out, I felt so fuckin’ guilty. Like I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop- for you to realize what I’d done- that I’d been unfaithful to you- and leave me. Christ, Tara, it’s like I’ve been waiting for you to leave me since the day I found out you were back in Charming. And you couldn’t even look at me, couldn’t even tell me you loved me- that’s when I knew… _thought_ I knew, we were over. So you turnin’ up pregnant- it’s like fate was givin’ us another shot.” 

“I’ve heard this all before, Jax-” 

“It was just _like_ before- just like the last time I’d hurt you,” Jax continues, as if she hadn’t even spoken. “It’s this fucked up cycle we’re in, you and me. I fuck up, you get pregnant, and then we work things through.” He chuckles, humorlessly. “Except that ain’t happening this time, is it Darlin’?” 

“Jax, I’m-”   
  
“Sorry?” he finishes, quietly, stealing Tara’s words from earlier but still refusing to look up at her. “After all the shit that happened, all I could think of was how- despite everything- I was a lucky bastard. I had you, our boys, a new baby- another perfect combination of you and me… And I still had my club. For a couple days, I had it all.” Finally, he raises tortured eyes to meet hers, and Tara can’t breathe- couldn’t speak even if she knew what the fuck to say- and she just stands there, broken, defeated, while he reads her sentence.

“When I thought our baby died, it was like… like our last shot to be together, to be a family, died too. You couldn’t even look at me, and I knew you were thinkin’ the same thing I was- it was like all the karma, all the bad shit I’ve ever done came ‘round at once.” He shakes his head, never flinching from her gaze. “I blamed myself even after you told me it was Gemma. And as much as I hated her for what you said she did, I hated myself more. _And you let me._ ” 

“It was never about you,” Tara whispers- unsure, really, if she’s reassuring Jax, or herself.   
  
“You filing for divorce, planning to take our kids, faking a pregnancy… a fucking _miscarriage_ ,” Jax snorts. “ _None_ of that shit was about me?” The last of the fight draining out of her, Tara sinks down onto the bed- still an arm’s length away from Jax- suddenly aware again of how tired she really is. _Exhausted_ , actually- the strain of the endless thoughts, worries, and fear seeming to settle into her very bones.   
  
Christ, she doesn’t know if she can do it again, today- can’t justify herself, yet again, to someone who just can’t understand what a mother would be willing to do to protect her children.

Especially when the one person who’d understand going to those lengths for her sons, for the people she loved more than anything on this earth, is the one who wants her dead. 

“I’ve seen what this town does to people, Jax- what it did to _you_ . Jesus, look what it did to _me_.” She holds a hand up, cutting off his retort. “And I know I chose to stay with you- I did that because I believed you when you said you could fix this club. But look at all that’s happened to us since then.” 

Jax says nothing, now, sitting there beside her- just waits, as if he knows what’s coming. 

“Since Op-” she clears her throat, the lump that had risen at the mention of their childhood friend failing to recede- “Since Opie died, it’s like you stopped believing in anything _but_ SAMCRO… like you stopped believing in us. Is it really so hard to believe that I lost faith in us, too?” At his questioning glance, Tara presses on, pleading with him to understand. “We _failed_ , Jax. We failed at the one thing we’re supposed to do, as parents- keeping the boys safe. And I just couldn’t take that chance anymore. Not even for you.” Irritated, now, he shakes his head.  
  
“The Irish-”  
  
“It isn’t about the goddamn Irish, Jax!” She snaps, furiously. _Jesus, he still doesn’t fucking see_ … “It isn’t about the Irish, or the Mayans, or… or, the fucking Russians, or any of the other gangs of criminals and killers that would rather see you and your family dead- at least not anymore. It’s about raising the boys somewhere where they won’t be expected to pick up a gun instead of a baseball bat. Somewhere where they won’t live and die for a patch on their backs.” Tara pauses, meeting Jax’s eyes, needing him to see the truth she feels with every bone in her body. “Somewhere away from your mother.”  
  
“Tara-” but she continues on, ignoring him.   
  
“She’s _poison_ , Jax. I loved her, once- when we were kids, and even after I came back to you. But after reading your father’s letters, I realized just how far she’d go to keep you here.” Tara laughs, bitterly. “ Gemma will _never_ let you go. And I know now, she won’t let _them_ go, either. _That’s_ why I did what I did- it was never about taking the boys from you, it was about saving them from exactly what your father never wanted for you.”  
  
Silence, then- where she’d thought he’d speak, protest, defend his mother… Could she really be getting through to him? Desperate to make him understand, Tara wipes the tears from her cheeks and leans in, imploring him to listen.   
  
“And it was wrong, I know... I _know_ I hurt you, Jax. But it was all I had left.” He searches her eyes, as if looking for more lies, more betrayals- and she doesn’t know what he’s found when he looks away again, staring at his hands and twisting his rings, absently.   
  
“You could’ve-”  
  
“Don’t-” Tara interrupts, quietly, “Don’t… _tell_ me what I could’ve done, or what I should’ve done. Not when you don’t know what she’s capable of. I lied about the miscarriage, that much is true. I lied, and I kept things from you, Jax. _Jesus_ , I... I did horrible things, shit I never thought I’d _ever_ do… because I was trying to protect our sons. But then, she’s the one that taught me all about that, isn’t she?” 

Chuckling, humorlessly, at Jax’s quizzical expression, Tara gestures at him. 

“You’re her pride and joy, Jax, and she stopped at _nothing_ to keep you here, in the club. Including threatening me.” Jax shakes his head, frustrated.   
  
“She was trying to protect me, Tara. Yeah, she’s a little… intense, but-”   
  
“She threatened to tell the police I’d given that crucifix to Otto- wanted me locked up so I couldn’t take that job in Providence.” Tara chuckles, bitterly. “ Christ, I’m _still_ not convinced she wasn’t the one who made that call. And when threats didn’t work, she hit me- punched me in the gut and told me she hoped I wasn’t pregnant, ‘cause they were gonna fist-rape me in prison. Who _says_ that to the mother of her grandchildren, Jax?” 

Her eyes filling with tears, Tara can’t focus on him, can’t even think beyond her next step- the one she’d been ready to take ever since her earlier conversation with Gemma. Christ, it’s clear now Jax is going to hate her, but even his hate is better than whatever the hell they are right now. Swiping a hand beneath her eyes, she reaches for her purse- ignoring the way he shifts back onto the bed, away from her, as she searches it for the object she’d meant to give him hours ago.   
  
“ You gonna draw on me again, Darlin’? Seems to be a theme for us today-” he shuts up when she shoves the small black rectangle into his hands.   
  
“ I didn’t come here for this, Jax- I didn’t even know you all were here. I just wanted to get a few things to tide me over so I could figure out what to do next. But if you want the truth, Baby- it’s time to shut up, for once, and listen.” She rolls her eyes at his puzzled expression, jabs a finger at the play button, and the room is immediately filled with static.   
  


* * *

At first, Jax isn’t sure what the hell Tara’s up to. Hell, he’s already reeling frrom the truth she’d finally- fucking _finally_ \- shared with him since he’d drawn on her, since they’ve made their way to the bedroom they once shared. And its a hell of a truth; in fact, he still feels a little like she’d actually fucking shot him earlier today. Watching her eyes fill with fear- because of him- seeing her cower before him like he’d actually fucking kill her… _God_ , it had almost broken him.   
  
Then, hearing that Gemma had threatened her hadn’t surprised him- at least not really... But Jesus Christ- _fist-raped in prison_? Punched in the gut? Involuntarily, his fists clench- it’s all a little too close to what Tara had told him had happened the day she’d supposedly lost their baby. Still, he’s not sure-  
  
 _“Get out of my house.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Or what? You gonna run me over?”_  
  
Slowly, Jax realizes what he’s holding- a recording device of some sort, and emanating from it is Tara’s voice… and that of his mother’s. He frowns, looking askance at Tara, who meets his eyes- almost defiant despite her tears. And for the first time it hits him- _really_ hits him- just how desperate she’d been. 

_“Do you have any idea who your husband is? What he's capable of?”_

_“I know him better than you do.”_

_“Oh, no. Clearly you don't. My son loves deep... hates deeper. It's in our genes. Betrayal is unforgivable. What you did, what you were planning to do-- there's no coming back from that. All you can do now is tell him you're sorry and go away.”_   
  
Jax can feel his mouth set in a hard line, can sense his nostrils flaring despite the fact that he knows Tara’s watching him. Jesus Christ, why can’t Gemma ever just let him fucking handle shit. He doesn’t need a fucking attack dog-   
  
_“I'll never do that. Not without my sons.”_   
  
Despite himself, he smiles, just barely; It’s one thing- one of many, he supposes- that he’d loved about her. Abel isn’t even hers by blood, but she still loves him like her own. Hell, by now, he _is_ her own, in every sense of the word. But then his mother’s responding, and her words send hot, blistering rage rushing through his veins. 

  
_“You need to hear this, Tara… and understand it on every level. Thomas and Abel will not be raised by you. What you do now will determine how we deliver that message. Mommy moved away... or Mommy passed away. Your call.”_

As the recording ends with a click, Tara sets her jaw, steels her spine- like Jax has seen her do so many times when it comes to the shit that’s been thrown her way since she’d come back to Charming. And through the hazy vision that is his anger at the woman that raised him, he can see her drawing away from him even further. The tears are no more- the pain, the hurt, the fear… all gone. Desperate for something- _anything_ \- to say that won’t send him flinging the black box in his hands at the wall or leaping up to put his fist through the goddamn mirror… he lands on the most practical, fighting to keep his voice in check.   
  
“When was this-”   
  
“Today,” Tara responds evenly, ready for him. “I was here, putting some things up for the boys, for me, and she just walked in- I was lucky I caught it at all.” Tara catches his eye, ducks her head in that way she’s done when she really needs his attention since they were teenagers- and somehow, that breaks him even further. “It’s not the first time, Jax, and she made it clear it won’t be the last. It’s why I went looking for you today- I needed you to know the… the _reason_ .” Jax nods, helplessly, the sick feeling already building at what he knows comes next.   
  
“ I knew you were with… _her,_ I think, before I even made the decision to drive over there. I did it against my better judgement because you needed to know, and because I thought that if I saw it- saw you with her… it’d make what I had to do next easier.”   
  
Jax stares at her, nonplussed. _What she had to do next?_ Jesus, he’s not sure he can take any more.   
  
“After I… well, after I left you with your associate…” he doesn’t know what to make of the fact that along with her tears, Tara’s sarcasm seems to have dried up as well- “I went to see Patterson. She’d offered me a deal, and after you scared Lowen away, well… I didn’t have any other option- not with you, Gemma, and the club gunning for me.” 

Jax can only stare back at her- panic, betrayal, and God knows what fucking else, tugging at the edges of his consciousness.  
  
“ You _ratted_ -”   
  
“ _No_ ,” Tara corrects, calmly, alleviating the bile rising at the back of his throat only slightly. “ I _didn’t_. I went to see what protection she could offer me, from the club your mother would enlist to help her,’ she looks away, then, and her next words are quiet, but firm. “From you.” 

It’s a moment before she continues, a moment that seems to stretch into eternity as he closes his eyes, uncaring, really, what she’d told the DA- knowing that if she’d ratted, it would be the final nail in the coffin of his marriage. The real end of one of the only things still holding him together. 

“There’s no deal, Jax. Someone from your club- maybe Gemma, I don’t care- got to Patterson, first. I didn’t even tell her about the recording because she said there’d been a new development.” Once again, Jax is filled with a bit of hope- that Patterson really had taken him at his word regarding the Irish… But Gemma doesn’t know that, and the thought of what his mother’s capable of- especially now that Tara’s been to see the DA- has him filling with a sick dread.   
  
“ I know it’s over, Jax- I know you’ll do what you think you need to do, what the _club_ needs you to do. Just know that all I ever wanted for our boys is all John ever wanted for you.” Jax swallows, thickly, unable to stop the tears forming in his eyes even if he cared to. “He died before he could save you- and I’ll die before I let Gemma raise our boys to become either of you.” 

The question- the fucking answer, too- had been running through his mind in some way shape or form all day… but the words seem to burn his lips anyway.   
  
“When did you start hatin’ me?” It’s simple, really, and the truth of her answer hits him before her words do, her beautiful green eyes piercing into his own.

“Through it all… I didn’t hate you. And I still need you to know that all of this-” she gestures at the recorder still resting in his palm- “isn’t about you, at least not just. But today, I hated you for choosing your dick over your family. I love you, but I hate that you can’t see past what you believe is your legacy to love us back… Love us enough to choose our safety over your ego.”   
  
“I _never_ stopped loving you, Tara-” Jax snaps, glaring back at her, needing her to know that if nothing else.   
  
“And I love you, Jackson- despite the fact that I don’t want to because we’ve done everything in our power to break us. Christ, I love you more than almost anything in the world, and I have since I was fifteen. Maybe even before that, I don’t know-”   
  
“But it isn’t enough,” It isn’t a question, but Tara answers it anyway and Jax feels his heart breaking all over again.   
  
“It _can’t_ be enough. Not if loving you is going to hurt our boys.” 

Slowly, Tara rises from the bed, stepping in front of Jax to tilt his chin up, her tears dried into streaks on her face. God, just a month ago, he’d have pulled her to him, kissed away the pain and all the evidence it had left behind. What the hell had happened to them? 

“I’m going to move Abel to the daybed in Thomas’ room, and I’m spending the night holding my boys. If you’ve ever loved me- if you love _them_ \- you’ll make some phone calls, something- I don’t care. Make sure your… _family_ doesn’t do anything to hurt us tonight.” He swallows with some difficulty, and it’s a moment before he can respond.   
  
“And tomorrow?” Jax asks raggedly, hating the way she looks away before shaking her head, sadly. 

“If there’s anything all this has taught me, it’s to live in the present… because tomorrow may never come.” Dropping her hand from his face, Tara drifts backward, slowly, her eyes roaming the room as if she’s not sure she’ll ever see it again. Then, she’s meandering down the hall, away from him. Again.

Jax sits for several long minutes, attempting to reconcile everything he’s just heard- some of it straight from Gemma’s mouth- with the conversation they’d had earlier today. 

He’s never had any doubt his mother loves him, or that she’d go to any length to protect her family- but would she really hurt Tara to keep his ass, and their boys, in Charming? _She already has,_ his subconscious nags. And if Tara had spoken to the SanJua DA, she’s no doubt on Unser’s radar- and there’s nobody more loyal to Gemma than that old bastard. Gritting his teeth, Jax reaches for his burner and flips it open- nothing from Gemma, Unser, or even Nero since well before seven. 

Pressing his palms to his eyes in an effort to relieve the quickly developing headache forming there, Jax finds himself haunted by echoes of what he’d seen in Tara’s eyes- the fear that he’d actually hurt her. The utter defeat in her voice as she reconciled herself to a night in his protection- the absolute need to be with their boys having won out, even over the threat that was the matriarch of SAMCRO. 

By the time the door to Thomas’ room clicks shut, Jax is rising to his feet, determined to give her that, at least. Rising from the bed, he retrieves the magazine from his jeans pocket and his pistol from his waistband and slides the magazine home. Then, quietly, he retraces the steps he’d taken earlier in the evening- pausing to flip the garage lights off and lock the door, repeating the same action with the back door before heading to the front of the house.   
  
The street out front is deserted- silent in a way it hasn’t been since the cartel shit had happened, prompting him to assign at least one of his guys to the duty of watching over his house- his family- at all times. Tonight, he’d shuttled everyone over to Diosa, found that while caring for his boys was unfamiliar territory, the need for vigilant protection was far too regular a part of their lives. Christ, who hasn’t he sat up and waited and worried over, determined to protect his family from the threats outside these four walls?   
  
Continuing on to the back of the house, Jax pauses in the doorway of the master bedroom, noting for the first time the small pile of clothing on the dresser, the drawer hanging open. Swiping a hand down his face, he pictures Tara- anxious and seemingly alone- gathering the things necessary to run and hide… from _him._ Ignoring the shame that’s been such a regular part of his life, lately, he realizes something had halted her progress- likely Thomas, ever a fitful sleeper.   
  
Needing, suddenly, to lay eyes on his family one more time before he takes up his post at the kitchen table, Jax flips off the light, filling the bedroom he and Tara had once shared with darkness. He checks Abel’s room- empty- before pausing again before the nursery door. Softly, he twists the knob, pushing the door open silently, his eyes adjusting to the darkness before landing on his family, cuddled together on the daybed.

Tara’s resting in the middle, her delicate features no longer twisted in the agony and frustration he’d witnessed from her today. Instead, the furrow between her brows is relaxed, her mouth forming a peaceful curve rather than its earlier grim line. Abel’s curled into her side- a possessive arm draped across her midsection- and Thomas is sleeping away on her chest, his chubby cheek resting against her breast. The sight of them- the family he’d made but rarely chosen- sets up an ache in his chest.   
  
More than anything in the world, he wants to climb into the bed beside them, drift off to sleep with his arms around his whole world. But after all his regret about hurting her- hurting _them_ \- he’s still got no clue how to go about keeping them. Besides, he’s got a promise to keep, and protecting them now just isn’t one he’s willing to break. 

It’s with some difficulty that he tugs on the door handle, and Jax takes one last glance at his family- wishing he could imprint the image in his mind forever. But, just like earlier today, he freezes- captured by something that had haunted his dreams one too many times over the years… Tara’s sleepy murmur.   
  
“Stay…”   
  
He’s not sure she’s awake- or even fully aware of what she’s just said to him. Hell, her voice had been so soft- almost a whisper, really- that he’s not even positive he hadn’t imagined it. But, unwilling to chance that scenario- risk waking her up fully so she can tell him to go to hell and leave them alone- Jax slips inside the room, softly easing the door shut behind him.   
  
There’s no room for him on the daybed- and he’s not sure what her reaction would be to having him that close, anyway- so Jax sinks into the rocker, resting his gun on his knee. At the faint breeze caused by his movements, Tara cracks an eye open, momentarily holding him captive and breathless in the chair. Then, her eyes drift closed once again and she sinks deeper into the daybed, gathering her boys closer around her.   
  
He’s got no idea what the morning will bring- isn’t sure how much more truth he can handle, really. And then, he’s got the Irish to deal with, not to mention his mother and all the other shit constantly piling up around them. But for now, he focuses on the soft sighs of his boys, the sight of them cuddled against the woman he’s loved since he was a teenager... 

And just breathes. 


End file.
